


A New Game in Town

by Nherizu



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drama, F/M, M/M, Mystery, Romance, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-03
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-11-20 04:59:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/581547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nherizu/pseuds/Nherizu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Heiwajima Shizuo knows his life won't be the same again after that kiss—the one that has been sneakily stolen from him. But it is too late, nothing he can do to get rid of Orihara Izaya's existence from his head. If anything, succumbing to the sinful attraction may be the best choice. But of course Izaya won't let it happen so easily.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stage #1

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually from kink meme... xD  
> Prompt: "Shizuo is staring out the window of the cafe he frequents when Izaya stops, stares, and kisses where Shizuo's mouth is from the glass. Is this how love begins?"
> 
> Standard fanfiction disclaimer applies. Thanks so much to annalisemarie99 for beta-ing this fic!

* * *

 

_Every year, millions of people die._

_It isn't surprising to think that a major cause of the death toll is suicide._

_Now how many of them, do you think, were the victim to the world's most well-known disease?_

_I know, I know . . . foolish, right? Heh, not that I mind._

_Still . . ._

_Love be damned. That much I'm sure of._

_(K)_

* * *

 

 

**A New Game in Town  
**

**Stage #1**

Something flashed through the cafe window; Shizuo blinked on his seat, and had to do so a couple of times for the piercing beam kept on attacking his eyes. He groaned low in his throat, a cigarette dangerously dangling from his parted lips. His hand itched to grab for the sunglasses in his pocket, but instead he opted to glare at whatever had interrupted his peaceful time; his bangs in complete disarray as his forehead stubbornly refused to leave the sheer cold glass' surface. When he spotted a lone figure standing near a streetlamp at the opposite side of the road, obviously waiting for the green signal with a cell-phone on one ear, the flash blinded him again.

 _Fucking hell,_ he narrowed his eyes.

It was a ring, a silver one at that, curling around the guy's finger. Every time he laughed to the phone, shoulders shook under the fur-trimmed jacket, and his hand shifted along the movement, the ring reflected the glaring sunray in Shizuo's direction. A low hiss escaped Shizuo's lips.

Then the green light was on; the man wrapped in black and gray crossed the zebra crossing with such light steps, as if those scrawny legs didn't know what gravity was. With a hand shoved inside his jacket's pocket, the man laughed again to the phone. His features were now clearer to see; from the way his dark hair was cut too short, the skin that would put every _Ganguro_ chick to shame, to the naughty smirk-like smile that tempted Shizuo to throw something onto that face. Shizuo unconsciously studied all of it with a hateful gaze, adamant, until their eyes met.

The first thing that came into Shizuo's mind was, the guy might be shocked and run for his life, knowing he was kind of _glared_ at by the one person people would be freaked out over. Next, Shizuo was considering if he should chase the guy for attempting to blind his eyes with a freaking ring, or just throw the café table at him through the window so that he couldn't escape. Unexpectedly, though, the man didn't stop his journey crossing the road. Shizuo scrunched his brows together as he realized, for the first time since he crashed in Ikebukuro, there was someone who was brave enough to stare back at him with such obnoxious arrogance.

"The hell?" he subconsciously said, not at all used to receiving this kind of reaction. Flecks of ashes dropped off his cigarette.

As if on cue, the man widened his smile—all confident and taunting—before he lowered the black cell-phone from his ear. Stopping right on the opposite side of the glass window Shizuo had rested his head on, the man bent over slowly, putting his forefinger on his lips when Shizuo only continued glaring at him in bewilderment. Then, acting like it was the most natural thing to do, he planted a quick kiss on the thin glass that was separating them—right where Shizuo's lips were seen through. The cigarette did a free fall from Shizuo's mouth.

For a second, the man merely smirked, looking highly satisfied to Shizuo's reaction; the corners of his eyes crinkling into thin lines. And like everything was right in the world, he straightened himself in a swift motion, continuing to walk towards his destination, talking into the phone again casually.

Wide eyed and utterly confused by what the hell was going on, Shizuo was left frowning, boring a hole on the man's retreating back. Because something… something terribly wrong had just taken place here, in front of him, and _directed at_ him. Puzzled, somehow entranced, but also enraged from being humiliated, he hissed through gritted teeth, glaring at practically nothing out of the window as the man disappeared at a corner. The frown on his face deepened as seconds ticked by.

What. The fuck. Had just. _Happened_?

"Shizuo!"

A yell from behind pulled him out of trance. Slowly turning his head to the voice source, he growled, "What?"

Tom Tanaka, his senior in middle school who was supposed to come twenty minutes ago, was looking at him in alarm, his fingers clutched the coffee cup until they turned pale. "Shizuo, your pants." Tom shook his head incredulously. "They're _burning_."

"Huh?" Eyeing Tom as if he didn't hear the revelation, Shizuo tardily diverted his gaze to his lap—smokes trailing to the air from where it was his cigarette marking a hole on his black slacks. Instantly he cursed, turning on his heels and knocking the chair backward with a loud screech. "Shit! They're my _last_ decent pants!" The others were either too worn out, or damaged from his countless fights, of course.

"What's wrong with you?" Sighing, Tom offered an ashtray across the table as he propped down the chair. "Put the fire out properly," he warned when Shizuo took the bent cigarette butt from the floor.

" _As_ _if_ I know what's wrong," hissed Shizuo, now positively sure he was pissed off at that guy. No other feelings involved. Fuck them if there were.

Tom scrunched his brows together. "Okay, if you say so. You wanna order something?" He decided to drop the topic. A worried looking waitress had stayed rooted on the floor not far from them, not sure whether she should help fixing up the mess, or just watch as the event unfolded—after all, no one didn't know who the guy with bleached hair, brown eyes and a bartender uniform was. Luckily, said guy put the chair back on by himself and sat.

"Nah, I'd rather finish the business quickly."

Nodding, Tom waved his hand in dismissal; the waitress let out a relaxed sigh as she made her way back to the kitchen.

"To the business," Tom said, handing a folded brochure he had slipped inside his gray suit's pocket. "This bar is my friend's. He said he can hire you as long as you don't fight there."

Shizuo let out a deep, exasperated sigh. Everyone knew it was the hardest condition for Shizuo to follow. Having been fired by almost twenty bars in a year for fighting, it wasn't surprising if his name were to be placed on the top of the list of 'Bartenders That Shouldn't Be Hired' in Tokyo—or perhaps in neighboring towns as well, judging from how fast the information travelled between bar owners. Well, it wasn't as if he couldn't work properly, in fact, his skills as a bartender was above average. But his temper was an entirely different story.

 _Monster_ , they said about him. He couldn't blame them; after all he'd indeed fought like one. Unbeatable, lacking human senses. He even couldn't remember what pain was like. Once he had snapped, control would slip out of his mind, and he'd be like a fighting machine. No one wanted their bar to be destroyed—and with the little talents he had, Shizuo doubted he could make a living from other jobs.

"The company I work at has refused to introduce you to other bars," Tom continued, threading his fingers on the table. His dreadlocks swung slightly as he hunched his shoulders. "I'm sorry, Shizuo, but this is the least I can do."

Scratching his head in attempt to drive away dejecting thoughts, Shizuo leaned back to his chair. "Yeah, thanks Tom. Don't make the company fire you just because you keep on helping me."

"And helping people to find the right job is the company's motto." Tom rolled his eyes in sarcasm; Shizuo smiled. "In any case, you can start working tomorrow."

"Got it."

Smiling, Tom started to pour a sachet of sugar into his coffee. That was when Shizuo's eyes drifted through the window again. He folded his arms across his chest, scowling as an image of a certain creepy guy crossed his mind. If he met that guy again, he'd be certain to strangle him dead. But now that he remembered how the guy's eyes held Shizuo's in equal fierceness, he couldn't stop himself from thinking . . .

When was the last time people had seen him as their equal?

* * *

 

" _No way, Izaya, you really did it?"_

The voice on the other line sounded too excited, but Izaya had predicted the reaction thirty seconds faster and had put some gap between the phone and his ear. Once he was sure it was safe enough, he pulled the phone back to his ear.

"What's so surprising? You challenged me to it." He knew the other couldn't see his smirk, yet he still formed one anyway.

" _Yeah, because I didn't think you'd actually go kissing random people just to prove you're still an asshole even after nine years—"_

There was a pause on the other line.

" _Okay, maybe I should have known that nine years is too short of a time. You'd probably need a whole century to change."_

Izaya couldn't hold his laughter, moreover because the one he talked to didn't sound as surprised as he wanted to be. If anything, Izaya could hear amusement in the voice, something resembling relief even.

"Still, I didn't kiss random people. And I never will."

" _Uh-uh, but you did just now."_

"Well, sorry to disappoint you, but I just kissed the glass."

" _What?"_

Stopping in his tracks, the corners of Izaya's lips were tugged into a smirk when he saw a lady clad in a long-sleeved green turtleneck, gray mini skirt and a pair of fitted black legging standing not far from him. Her dark, long hair was set loose to her waist, while two black-suited men stayed still beside a black Toyota Camry, presumably produced in the year of 2010, like odd-looking statues. Keeping his nonchalant vibes, Izaya continued to walk lightly, eyes catching the rosy board that was hanging on top of a café's door to confirm that it was indeed the place.

"I have an appointment now. Talk to you later, Shinra," he said into the phone.

" _Eh? But what about—"_

Izaya had hung up. Flipping the phone closed, he tilted his head to the side in mock friendliness. "My, my. Never thought you'd really come, dear Namie."

"Liar," Namie said, her tone was flat yet it didn't understate its sharpness. Izaya snickered as if Namie's answer was the funniest thing he had ever heard. At Namie's silent, indifferent eyes, he then waved his hand in dismissal, not saying anything more as he led the way to the café. Rolling her eyes, Namie followed suit; her bodyguards keeping the door open for her.

Izaya chose the table at the far end of the western styled café, near a huge window. He took a seat, and gestured Namie to do the same with his eyes. Before she comfortably positioned herself on the chair, however, the words that had been on the tip of her tongue since days ago, had rolled out of her mouth.

"Why would you come back?"

Upon the question, Izaya leaned his back on the chair, casually knocking the table with his fingers. "Why wouldn't I? This is my hometown after all."

"That's not what you promised me nine years ago!"

A waiter came to ask for their order, and Izaya ignored Namie's heated retort. "I'll have a cup of hot tea." As the waiter took note of his order, Izaya shifted his attention to Namie, "I think your watchmen want some coffee, Namie." He pointed at the men standing besides Namie.

Annoyed for being ignored, but also knew that as long as her bodyguards were there, watching them, Izaya wouldn't want to talk seriously, Namie narrowed her eyes as she spoke to the waiter. ". . . I'll have a coffee, and," she turned to see her bodyguards, "go make your own order and sit at the farthest table."

As the men took their leave and the waiter hurried back to the kitchen, Namie arched her brows and waited for Izaya's answer. But said man only stared at her in fake-puzzlement, acting all innocent. She gritted her teeth.

"You _promised_ to never come back to Japan," she hissed.

Sighing, Izaya put his elbows on the table, leaned his chin on top of his entwined fingers, then smiled. "Namie, you should have known better than to trust me."

"I didn't, which is why I wished you'd died in Russia. Preferably frozen."

Izaya chuckled, his voice smoothly mocking. "How cruel. You know I hate the cold."

"And yet you chose Russia."

"Can't be helped. Too many things happen in that country. Human trafficking being my most favorite subject."

"Still a sick bastard, I see."

"From the way you so . . . eagerly asked me to meet you here, I see that you're still hopelessly in love with your brother."

The words made Namie press her lips into a tight line while she tried to dig a hole on Izaya's forehead with her glare. Amused by Namie's reaction, Izaya faked a sigh, leaning his back on the chair. "Poor Namie, as much as I want you to marry your dear brother, it's still taboo to the world."

"Who says about marriage? Besides, you didn't even mean what you said."

Izaya laughed again. "Yes, yes, I guess everyone knows me so well."

It was only silence that embraced them afterward, before Namie asked in a low voice, venom thick in her words. "You could have rotten under the piles of your precious research of humans and crimes in Russia, yet you chose to come back here so suddenly. What are you planning?"

At this point, Izaya only stared past the window, a smile lining his lips.

"If I said I'm not planning anything, would you believe me?"

Namie didn't answer; Izaya trained his eyes on her again. "Well?"

"I'm breaking the engagement. I should have done that ever since you left Japan nine years ago," she announced.

"Yes, you should have. But you didn't," Izaya said, "why?"

Squinting her eyes, Namie's knuckles grew white as she fisted her fingers on her thighs. Of course she knew that Izaya knew the reason she couldn't annul their engagement. The bastard just had to act disgustingly clueless; the habit to play around with people's emotions had run thick in his blood. The fact she loved her own brother must be kept a secret, and she needed a perfect cover for her—Izaya's status as her fiancé. And despite herself, she kind of trusted Izaya's promise to not come back to Japan—she was sure Izaya was content to have completed his study in the US and work in Russia. Everything had been so perfect that she never expected him to return—

—yet, he was back now, leaving his beloved job behind and wanting to take the family business; following the family's order to marry the business partner's daughter was included in the list. What a joke.

The waiter came back bringing their orders, and Izaya took no hesitation in putting only a half cube of sugar into his tea. He stirred the tea a bit too long, expression bored, as occasionally soft ' _clanks_ ' sounded from the silver teaspoon stirring in the cup.

"Jet lag is the worst. I just got back two days ago, and although I want to feel happy to have you call me up this morning, disturbing my precious sleep, only to have this touching reunion between two fiancés, I still _can't_ be happy."

Namie almost let out a snort. "You never said you were coming back. I had to call to your house to confirm the rumor about your return. Your twin sisters didn't want to tell me anything, and your parents couldn't be contacted. I thought I could take a deep breath until my men said they saw you in a hotel —"

"Your own fault for never asking about my plan yourself," Izaya pointed out, not letting Namie to finish her complaint. "And since when are my sisters considered reliable?" he added with a knowing smirk. Namie rolled her eyes.

"I hope you get hit by a truck. That way I wouldn't have to marry you," she said, standing up so fast that the chair almost knocked back. Upon her wish, Izaya offered her a laid-back grin.

"Expect a formal family meeting very soon." He waved as Namie headed towards the exit, calling for her bodyguards and ignoring everything that came from Izaya.

Once she and her men had disappeared behind the door, Izaya sipped his tea, then pulled out his mobile as it buzzed. "What now . . ." He murmured to himself, starting to type over the keys for a while. When his fingers halted mid air, he stared out of the window.

The smile was missing from his features.

* * *

 

It wasn't really as well-known compared to the other bars Shizuo had worked in, but it has its regular customers. The place was quite spacious, with its walls made of furnished woods and various colored guitars hanging on them. The lighting was dim and blue, a Marilyn Monroe poster attached next to the entrance. So far, only a handful of people—annoying old geezers who insisted on his number, or university students who thought they looked cool if they could try mixing their own drinks—were making Shizuo's blood boil. But remembering Tom couldn't help him finding a new job again, he succeeded in suppressing his anger. At least, it had been three days, and nothing major happened.

Shizuo had just finished making the seventh drink for that night, when Shinra and Kyouhei, his high school friends, suddenly sat at the counter right before him. It was Shinra, the one with brown hair, thin-framed glasses, and a long white robe that was patent for a doctor, who apparently had forced Kyouhei to come along. Said guy adjusted his gray knitted hat to cover more of his hair, as he grunted how Shinra had practically dragged him out of his house at an ungodly hour. Shizuo wanted to snicker at his friends' conducts, if only he didn't know that the true reasons they came was to make sure he was _'okay'_ with the current work place.

"You can just go home after you finish these." Shizuo passed two glasses of Manhattan. "The last thing I need from you both is distraction."

"We are still waiting for one more person to come, though." Shinra grinned, mouthing a _'thanks'_ for the drink nonetheless.

"We are?" Kyouhei raised one of his brows.

"Haven't I told you? My middle-school friend has come back from Russia. I think it's a perfect opportunity to meet up."

"No, you haven't told me _anything_ ," said Kyouhei with a roll of eyes. Well, it wasn't like he only knew Shinra just yesterday.

"I'm telling you now then. He moved to Massachusetts after middle school, and honestly I was surprised he transferred to Russia and became some kind of a researcher there, while the states could offer him more. Weird guy."

"Freaks stick to each other." Shizuo shrugged.

"Yeah, that's why we are friends!" Shinra said cheerfully, while Shizuo and Kyouhei gladly chose to ignore the statement. "Anyway, speaking of Russia, lately I've met the people from there more than usual."

"They want you to treat them?" Kyouhei asked, gulping down the Manhattan.

"Yeah, I'm an underground doctor after all. They're all illegal immigrants."

"This bar's security's a Russian. His name's Simon," Shizuo said, gesturing with his chin towards the entrance, where a tall, bulky figure with dark skin tone and white hair peeking under a blue hat, stood firmly. Shinra and Kyouhei eyed at said man, before Shinra asked,

"Simon _who_?"

"I call him Simon the Security."

"He can't remember his last name," Kyouhei stated with a shrug, which caused Shizuo to sniff in annoyance, busying himself with fixing more drinks while mumbling to himself something that sounded suspiciously close to _'shut up'_. "So, what's this old friend of yours look like?" Kyouhei diverted his attention towards Shinra again.

"Hmm, these past nine years I never met him once myself. I was always the one who sent him pictures, so I'm not sure how he looks right now. He has this odd _allergy_ to posting pictures online."

"Low self-esteem?" Kyouhei offered with a raised brow.

"Oh, no. That's the last thing that could happen to him." Shinra laughed louder than necessary, seemingly amused to the idea of his friend having such a humane problem. "But at least he's entertaining for me."

"Sounds like a real freak," Shizuo said in passing.

Ignoring whatever Shinra's reply was, he left the counter for a while to take lemon slices. When he was back, Shinra had started to talk about his so-called old friend's habits of creating disasters, which Shizuo totally tuned out for he had no interest whatsoever in the topic. However, at that time a new guest had come, passing through the entrance and smiling at Simon. Shizuo didn't normally keep an eye to every visitor; he didn't even remember any of them. But now, it was a different story. The fur trimmed coat immediately caught his full attention.

That scrawny guy.

A sudden rage, mixed with confusion and curiosity as to why the hell the guy came to this bar of all places, bubbled inside him. Then, like a déjà vu, it didn't take long before the guy noticed Shizuo staring at him. At first, he paused in his steps, looking somewhat surprised albeit it only lasted for a second. His eyes travelled around the place afterward, until he spotted what he was looking for, and diverted his gaze back to Shizuo. He slowly but surely formed a confident smile, walking in steady pace as though all the crowds had no effect on him. Shizuo instantly clutched the edge of black mahogany counter, nails digging into it. Yet, before he could say or do anything, the guy had yelled,

"Shinra!"

Shizuo froze. He almost wished he heard it all wrong.

"Izaya!"

Apparently it was fucking _true._

Shinra spread his arms open as a welcome gesture for his friend, and the guy named Izaya laughed as they exchanged light punches, fist to fist. "You didn't change at all, Izaya!"

"I thought you said it'd take me a century to change?"

"Indeed, indeed, I said that," Shinra confirmed, beaming all the while. "Ah, right!" He turned towards Kyouhei and Shizuo—who was by now on the verge of exploding from both anger and confusion. "This is Kadota Kyouhei, and the bartender is Heiwajima Shizuo. Both of them were my classmates in High School."

Izaya replied Kyouhei's nod with a thin smile, before focusing his attention wholly on Shizuo; his eyes twinkling with amusement. Then with clear, moderate voice, he brightly introduced himself.

"Hi, I'm Orihara Izaya. Nice to meet you."

The wooden counter cracked under Shizuo's fingers.

* * *

 

_**~to be continued~** _

 


	2. Stage #2

* * *

_Should I laugh? Should I laugh?_

  
_Hey_ _, should I laugh?_  


_You see . . . people will never change._

_I will never change._

_Then the world, too, will never change._

_Boring. Boring. Boring._

_. . ._

_Can I really laugh?_

_(K)_

* * *

 

**A New Game in Town**

**Stage #2**

"Shizuo, you're _cracking_ the counter!"

Jolted back to his senses, Shizuo eyed the one who had grabbed his wrist in alert—Kyouhei. His eyebrows had curled down so sharp, Shizuo thought it was almost funny. Nonetheless it was Kyouhei's words that sank into his brain and forced him to release the poor piece of wood from his death grip. Yes, he couldn't afford to lose yet another job now.

"Wow, you're strong," Izaya said, mildly surprised, as he sat on the stool. His voice held an odd fluidity that seemed like dry breeze on a summer day. However, it was the way he smiled as he articulated those provoking words that ticked Shizuo off. Anyone else would be freaked out—but Izaya was different. If anything, he regarded it with such lightness; akin to mockery. "Anyway . . . what could you fix me?"

"Anything you'd prefer. How about _Red Death_?" Shizuo bit out.

"Uh, Shizuo?" Laughing awkwardly, Shinra apparently had caught the sparks of danger radiating from the interaction. "Izaya, you too—"

"Interesting offer." Izaya raised his right hand in a swift motion, the smile on his face never faltering. "But I'd prefer some Water Moccasin."

Shizuo didn't answer, ignoring the fact that Izaya's choice of beverage was that with a snake's name—a sharp comeback from the guy. But the last thing he wanted was to have more conversation with Izaya, therefore he chose to work on the requested drink in silence, refusing to see or hear anything from the man before him.

"Isn't the night still too young for Water Moccasin, though?" Shinra quickly started a conversation again, torn between the temptations to dig further into whatever happened between his two friends, or help Shizuo secure his new job.

"Are you a heavy drinker then?" Sensing the atmosphere was thicker than before, Kyouhei added in. "I understand it tastes good, but it's one hell of booze," he glanced warily towards Shizuo who was putting too much concentration on shaking the drink. At this question, Izaya laughed.

"I did drink a few sips for warmth in Russia, but I'm actually not that fond of alcohol."

"Really?" Kyouhei arched his brows so high, they disappeared into his hat.

"Really, really. I'm not drinking anything tonight." Izaya nodded, complacent. "But it's a waste if I didn't at least order something to see our beloved bartender's skill." His eyes trained solely on Shizuo as he spoke, and the cocktail shaker dented at once under Shizuo's tight grip, fluid dripping freely onto the floor.

" _What_?" Shizuo hissed.

Izaya looked intrigued by the show, and it seemed like he had somehow expected Shizuo's reaction concurrently—as if he was only confirming whatever suspicion he had in mind. "Ah, you ruined it. Now you have to fix me another one." He smiled all innocently while tilting his head to the side. "Right?"

"You bastard—!"

"Shizuo, I need a second!" Kyouhei promptly butted in, holding his empty glass just to emphasize his purpose. Shinra mirrored the conduct immediately once he sensed Kyouhei's glare in his direction.

"Ass." Muttering through gritted teeth, Shizuo snatched the two empty glasses off the counter, and briskly dumped them into the sink at the corner. For a while he struggled to clear his mind, dripping water over his hands just to feel its coolness. In the background, he could faintly hear Kyouhei and Shinra had started talking casually with Izaya.

Taking a deep breath, he went back to the counter, preparing the ingredients needed for the drinks. He was bending down to take another cocktail shaker from the shelf under the bar, when Kyouhei asked Shinra to properly watch their friend's temper while he had to go to the restroom. Hearing Shinra's approval, Shizuo munched on his inner cheek in annoyance.

Why couldn't he live without making other people worry about the damage he'd cause?

However, a rather familiar, cheerful melody sung then, unceremoniously meddling with the mellow song that was flowing from the loud speakers. Shinra excused himself from whatever chat he was having with Izaya, before ecstatically jumping from his seat at the displayed caller ID. Without waiting any longer, he sent apologies to both Izaya and Shizuo, and stormed out of the bar to seek more privacy. Shizuo had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. Leave it to Shinra to forget his promise to Kyouhei that easily.

"Is that his girlfriend calling? He's rather excited." Izaya chuckled, his gaze still followed Shinra's trace. Yet, as he realized the answer would never come, he leaned over the counter to observe the crouching Shizuo more closely. "Shizu-chan?" he cooed.

 _That_ succeeded in making Shizuo snap his face upward, only to catch a pair of mocking eyes staring down at him.

"I'm _Shizuo_ Heiwajima," he snarled in much hatred.

"Hence, Shizu- _chan_ ," Izaya answered lightly.

Standing up so fast, Shizuo had to catch himself to not slam a bottle of martini onto the counter. He put out two glasses, and opening the seal of the Martini, he began to prepare new cocktails for Kyouhei and Shinra. Fuck the dumbass—Shizuo would _not_ listen to anything he said. The moment Izaya talked again, however, his resolution crumbled.

"When I came in just now—that was the second time you stared at me."

Scrunching his brows together, Shizuo paused what he was doing, though he didn't say a thing. Izaya continued.

"Coincidences do happen, yes? To think that you're a friend of Shinra . . ."

"So you usually do that to random people?" Shizuo narrowed his eyes, now locking them with Izaya's.

"What?" Izaya seemed confused at first, nonetheless he quickly proceeded to chuckle. "Oh—that. Of course not. But I admit, it was partly your fault."

"The fuck are you talking about," Shizuo growled. He poured the Martini into the glasses, trying to divert his attention whilst the familiar tension had begun spreading in his veins.

"You were staring at me, as if you were asking to be molested, Shizu-chan."

The liquid had spilled over the full glass, but Shizuo still stubbornly holding the bottle as it was—letting drops of Martini cover the floor. His eyes wide, jaw firm for he was clenching his teeth. "Oh, you don't mean it," he said through gritted teeth.

Again, Izaya chuckled—mockingly. "Not in a good mood aren't you, Shizu-chan?"

"I'm _Shizuo_ ," he nearly shouted, glaring whole-heartedly at the ever smiling creature before him.

"Shizu- _chan_." Transforming his nonchalant smile into one arrogant smirk, Izaya waved his index finger playfully. "Don't tell me you wish for a real kiss?"

And that _did_ it.

In a flash, the bottle of Martini—now empty—had been thrown onto Izaya's head in clean strike, sending said man to stumble on his seat, nearly knocked to the floor if only he hadn't gripped the counter in time.

The crowd around him scattered backward, yelling in shock and some had panic painted on their faces. But Izaya himself was silent. Blood trickled down from the left side of his forehead, dampening his fringe and tracing his cheek painfully slowly. Then, a soft laughter was heard. Beginning in a low cadence, the laughter grew louder and louder—it practically shook Izaya's whole body. Sensing something shot through his spine, Shizuo instantly grabbed the front of Izaya's jacket.

"What the _hell_ is so funny!?"

Izaya appeared to be having difficulty in stopping his laughter. Though as Shizuo shook him mercilessly, he finally did, setting his gaze right on Shizuo's with a smirk. At that very moment, Shizuo was caught off guard by the look in Izaya's eyes.

Mixed with the blue hue of the bar lamps, it was a contrasting shade compared to the fresh blood tricking on Izaya's cheek. Darker, less brilliant, like dry blood, or the ugly remains of rotten cherries Shizuo often found in the corner of his family's fridge when he was little. On top of it all, the way the eyes shone—it sent chills down Shizuo's spine. It was just like the eyes of someone that Shizuo had seen before. It was like—

"How interesting," Izaya howled, pulling Shizuo out of his trance. "Now you're staring at me like you're seeing a monster! But aren't you the real monster?"

Numerous snapping sounds resounded in Shizuo's head, and that was all it took for Izaya to be thrown onto the farthest side of the wall, making him slide down into the floor, right next to the entrance. Luckily, there was no other victim to Shizuo's rage; the guy who was standing there had leapt to the side in horror, a second before Izaya was slammed onto the wall. Though, the Marilyn Monroe poster was hardly recognizable now.

"Shizuo! Izaya!"

Shinra emerged from the door, followed by Simon who was quickly learning what had caused the commotion. By now the people in there had fled for their lives; the women were screaming, although some were still stubbornly watching the strongest man in Ikebukuro in action. Outside the restroom, Kyouhei merely shook his head in defeat.

Stomping outrageously, Shizuo headed towards where it was Izaya painstakingly balanced himself to stand with the help of the wall—the smirk on his face was unwavering, nevertheless.

"You know, Shizu-chan? Just because I purposefully let you injure me, doesn't mean I can't fight back," he said in a tone that was as light as air, yet something sharp could be sensed about its edge. His right hand swiftly moved, and in a split second, a black, spring assisted knife was ready in his hand. Several gasps rang from the audience at the side of such a dangerous weapon—a monster of Ikebukuro was already more than enough, and now there was another madman with a knife. The prospect was not at all tempting.

Shizuo growled dangerously. "Yeah, right. Let's see what that stupid knife can do to—"

He was forced to bounce backward; Izaya had ducked and stormed towards him in an insane speed, grinning all the while as he swung his knife repeatedly towards Shizuo. Said guy brought an arm to protect his eyes, letting the sharp surface of the knife leave traces of scars and blood through the ripped fabric of his uniform.

"Bastard," Shizuo roared; his free hand reaching for something, someone, or whatever available to throw, but there wasn't anything. Izaya continued to laugh with each slash, as though he was having the best moment in his life. Shizuo jumped to the side, ducking and swaying away from Izaya's painfully perfect aims, until he felt the hardwood of a table against his hip. Letting a sadistic grin grace his face, Shizuo raised said table above his head, before marching in Izaya's direction. Yet, as Izaya's lips twitched into a smirk and his whole body screamed of something equally crazy, Simon stepped between them and caught both of their collars in tight grips.

"Fighting is bad," he shouted in choppy Japanese, Russian accent underlying his words. "Bar is broken! People are scared!"

For a moment, Shizuo was still hissing, eyes narrowed into slits, and hands still attempting to shove the table up onto Izaya's cocky grin. After Simon shook his body more violently, lifting him off the floor by the collar, he was jerked back to reality.

Izaya still looked batshit crazy, and he swore he really wanted to kill the man. But the bar was indeed damaged—tables scattered and shards of glasses spread about the place. His attempt to not fight—to keep this last chance of a job Tom had given him, was once again proven to be futile. The wooden table slipped off of his hands, meeting the ground with a loud _'crack'_.

"Calm down. Get to the backroom," Simon instructed as he released Shizuo, who stepped backward half-wobbly—lost in thoughts. Kyouhei was pulling his arm, carefully leading him far from Izaya, who was now wiping the blood on his cheek with his palm. Simon pushed Izaya back until Shinra seized him with a masked glee—a bit too eager to check on the wound and listen to the stories, if any. Simon nodded as he made sure the two were going separate ways. "Peace is good," he said one last time.

* * *

 

Fiddling with the keys, Shizuo groggily climbed up the metal stairs to his apartment. It was almost four in the morning, and the neighborhood was as 'lively' as a graveyard was; what with only sounds of that of an occasional dog barking and the roaring police sirens from afar—probably because some gangsters caused problems again—could be made out. Besides, the two-story apartment with only eight rooms, each occupied by unique, if not weird people, was located quite far from the bars, clubs and love hotels district. Thus, Shizuo was used to coming home without anyone to greet him back.

Unlocking the door tiredly, he stumbled inside, slipping off his shoes while reaching for the much-needed cigarette in his pocket. He kicked the door closed carelessly, not bothering to lock it again—no one was crazy enough to break into the room of the monster of Ikebukuro anyway. Plus, he didn't have anything fancy—T.V and computers could only arouse his anger, so he had no need for those.

He flicked his cigarette on, taking a long drag before tossing the lighter to the corner. He slid off the sticky bartender vest, fumbling with his tie and the buttons of his white shirt. The flickering green light on the desk stole his attention then, making him realize that he hadn't had his cell phone on him all day. He took the old, orange cell absentmindedly, checking for the emails or missed-calls that had triggered the indicator light.

Three emails; he took another long drag.

 _[_ _**Subject:** _ _none_

 _**To:** _ _Heiwajima Shizuo_

 _**Sender:** _ _Heiwajima Kasuka_

_**Message:** _

_Brother, I heard you got a new job. Where is it?_

_Sent at 9.50 PM, March 18]_

Shizuo let out a twirl of smoke rather exasperatedly.

_Damn._

Kasuka, his brother, as expressionless as a human can be, still had the warmest of hearts Shizuo had ever known. In fact, he persistently tried to be a bartender was all because of Kasuka.

That one time Shizuo tried to mix drinks in Kasuka's apartment three years ago, was far from success. He only read this book, with a recipe of Blue Lagoon on one of its pages, and tried to make use of Kasuka's lonely yet extravagant personal bar simply because he was bored. Being a rising actor, Kasuka had too much stuff he didn't even need provided by his agency, and Shizuo just wanted to do something to stop his mind from thinking that—he, who was a reject of the world, didn't belong to such luxurious place.

That fail Blue Lagoon, however, was downed empty by Kasuka, despite the fact that he wasn't really a fan of alcohol. Shizuo didn't even need any compliments, nor did he want to see Kasuka's flat expression transform into a smile. But it was more than enough. He decided to learn to be a capable bartender from that moment on. The gift from his dear brother—three full boxes of bartender uniform that carried the meaning of _'never give up'—_ just strengthened his will to keep trying, despite his monstrous temper always getting in the way.

Now though, he had just lost his last chance to work in Ikebukuro—or in all of Tokyo for that matter.

Slumping onto the bed, Shizuo stared at the ceiling. No, he didn't know what to say to his brother now, but maybe, maybe tomorrow he could start looking for a new bar, or even a club, or—

He sighed. That was impossible now, wasn't it?

He reached for his phone again, attempting to jail the horrible, disgusting sensations swelling up in the pit of his stomach, and read the other emails.

 _[_ _**Subject:** _ _none_

 _**To:** _ _Heiwajima Shizuo_

 _**Sender:** _ _Kishitani Shinra_

_**Message:** _

_Sorry for leaving early. Izaya's fine. Just four stitches on the temple!_

_Sent at 1.13 AM, March 19]_

Shizuo cringed. Four stitches, huh? As much as he hated the guy, guilt still could snake its way up to his heart. The dry, glaring reds on his arm would soon heal without the need of thread and needle, and it was a little unfair, now that he thought of it. But as the offending image of Izaya laughing like a madman and provoking him flashed in his mind, he immediately scowled, biting the cigarette with a hiss.

Four stitches were not so bad. That bastard deserved his lesson; after all he did say he purposefully let himself get injured.

With that thought, Shizuo shrugged and proceeded to read the last email.

 _[_ _**Subject:** _ _none_

 _**To:** _ _Heiwajima Shizuo_

 _**Sender:** _ _Kishitani Shinra_

_**Message:** _

_As expected of him, Izaya dodged the questions, so I couldn't ask for what happened. But I know it was partly his fault, so I convinced him to take the responsibility! Now have a good rest, I'm going to spend the night with my beloved!_

_Sent at 2.21 AM, March 19]_

Now Shizuo frowned, partly puzzled, partly concerned.

Responsibility? What had Shinra mean by that? If there was one thing Shizuo was sure about his friend, it was that Shinra wasn't the best person to be relied on—given his mischievous upbringing and constant nagging just so that he could get a blood sample of Shizuo's. And now this Izaya person . . .

Thinking about that guy was enough to make the familiar fury swirling inside him. He bit the butt of his cigarette and wrinkled his nose. It was clear that Izaya was only playing around with his emotions—even from the first time they met, the bastard had done that. But what was it that made Izaya manage to crawl under his skin so easily; as if the bastard had known him for ages? And why did his eyes see the world with that kind of . . . of . . .

Sighing loudly, Shizuo rose from his lying position to put out his cigarette into a metal ashtray. He stayed still for a while in that position, contemplating, remembering the swish of adrenaline rush tonight. Then for the first time in the last few hours, he allowed himself to think of those particular words Izaya had spat at his face.

_"Now you're staring at me like you're seeing a monster! But aren't you the real monster?"_

Shizuo laughed, dryly.

"Fuck you. I don't need _you_ to remind me."

* * *

 

The Orihara Hospital had always been one of the most well-known private hospitals in Tokyo. Izaya should have been proud of it, or perhaps he was, but never had the interest to show it. When he was in elementary school, he used to play in the hospital; secretly throwing pranks to the nurses and doctors, or simply observing people's expressions when they spent their lives there. The joy when their acquaintances paid a visit, or the painful, broken heart expressions when their loved ones said goodbye, or even the ghostly pale faces they had when they knew about their illness—they were just exhilarating for the young Izaya

But that was it; nothing more special was there. Even now as he walked through the crisply white hallways after nine years of only knowing the numerous renovations and developments from pictures and emails, he couldn't feel the slightest bit of comfortable feelings one usually got whenever they visited their most memorable places. The fact that people stared at him, probably because he was passing the staff only area, didn't help at all. He combed his bangs out of his forehead in weariness, albeit his visage remained calm. As his fingers touched the cotton surface of a bandage circling his forehead, though, he smiled at the reminiscence of last night.

Interesting.

He was jobless and there wasn't any human trafficking report he should write, but this city was still interesting. Thrilling, if only because of one certain _monster_. And it was—

"Excuse me, the president director is not in his office, do you have an appointment?"

Stopping his journey to the big door on the farthest wall, Izaya turned towards the petite woman behind the desk. Rather than quickly answering her, however, he studied the way she looked at him instead—wide eyed, a little bit flustered as she strived to sit straight under his scrutiny. Her brown, shoulder-length hair was slightly messy; Izaya silently thought why someone as incapable of keeping her hair neat as this woman could be a secretary of a president director.

"Ah, it's not surprising I don't know where my father is," he said without much care, walking slowly towards the lady. "Is he even in Japan?"

"Your father?"

"I'm Orihara Izaya."

"Oh!" She quickly slid her hair behind her ear, nervously fumbling with the pocket sized agenda on the table. "He's just—wait a moment, please—yes, he's in a meeting with the Yagiri Pharmacy director."

_And you don't even remember his schedule?_

Raising his brow contemptuously, Izaya kept his smile unfazed. After all, he had known his father was still in the same city as him, albeit he still hadn't done so much as to show himself to any of his parents. Well, he attempted now, but his mood to pay a family visit had vanished as fast as it came.

"He's with Yagiri Seitarou-san, yes?" he confirmed, not quite surprised to the fact that his dad is now probably talking about his return, which led to deciding a date for his wedding with the Yagiri Pharmacy's one and only ' _princess_ ', Namie.

"Yes, it should be over soon. Perhaps you would like to try his cell phone," the secretary suggested, her cheeks slightly flushed."Or would you like me to call him for you?"

Izaya laughed. "While I'm grateful for your offer, I have no interest in calling that man." At that, the lady tweaked her brows together. "But I will come again soon, when I can officially work here." He curled an ominous smile, slightly bending over to set his eyes on the same level as hers. "When that time comes, please take care of me."

The secretary clutched her agenda tighter, eyes flickering in what only could be the result of nervousness. "Li—likewise," she said, bashful. Izaya let out a snicker from his lips as he sauntered away, waving his hand heedlessly.

Humans and their predictable actions—he would never get bored of them.

But on his way passing through various divisions and halls, his amusement started to dissipate again. Watching the running children and some old people chatting with each other about their families, he indifferently noted the fact that, again, nothing special had happened. The boredom was coming, he could feel it teasing the rim of his patience. Huffing while keeping his pace steady and light, he scooped out his phone from his pocket, fiddling with the number before putting it on his ear.

After several rings, the one on the other line picked up.

_"Orihara speaking."_

"Mairu," he said.

There was a gasp, then, _"I can't believe you never come home! Aren't you in Japan now?"_

Sighing, Izaya rested his back against the wall, already having the urge to press the _'end'_ key. "At least I've told you about my coming back."

_"You know it's not about me. Mother and father asked—"_

"About that . . . she's out for business, aren't I right?"

_"Well, like usual . . ."_

If Izaya was irked by the fact, he didn't show it. "Then I don't need to come home. Not yet, anyway."

_"But—"_

"Don't pretend you want to see me."

_"Well . . . I guess seeing you after nine years won't hurt."_

"Thank you. You're a _wonderful_ little sister, Mairu." He tried to ignore the giggles on the other line. "Either way, let me know when mother comes back."

_"Mm-hm, only if I remember."_

Izaya hung up.

If Namie couldn't make his twin sisters to cooperate—he was sure Kururi only agreed to Mairu's stupid demeanor—then nothing could. Clucking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, he pushed himself away from the wall. Good, his mood for family time was sinking deeper and deeper now. But really, it didn't matter. If anything, the only thing he was concerned about was that he needed to delay his check-out to the hotel he was staying. But the change of plan required him to call Shinra, and that would be—

Blinking, he stopped thinking as he spotted someone—a person who clearly wasn't supposed to be there this early; judging from his outfit—getting ready to knock on one of the chambers' doors with one hand holding a bouquet of pink roses. Izaya's eyebrows rose intriguingly. At the same time, said person met his gaze, looking as confused as he was, before it looked like something had hit the boy's mind.

"Izaya-san?"

* * *

 

_**~to be continued~** _


	3. Stage #3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry, I've written this chapter ages ago, but I always forgot to post it here. Well then, I hope you forgive me and please enjoy this chapter ^^;a

* * *

_When I thought things have left me to death,_

_Everything's just getting more and more remarkable._

_Why is this world so interesting?_

_(K)_

* * *

 

**A New Game in Town**

**Stage #3**

The sight of a strangely familiar brown-haired high-schooler invited a frown upon Izaya's face, if only temporarily. He slightly pursed his lips, tilting his head to the side as he took in the way those stiff eyes and that strong jaw line reminded him of someone—a brat—who he kind of liked to piss off years ago. Then it was only natural if everything clicked oh so fast in his head, given his exceptional intelligence and memory.

"Yagiri Seiji-kun, what a surprise!" He sent up a far-too-cheerful smile towards the boy. "Ah, where's your dear sister?"

Nodding, Seiji gave him a humorless, taut gaze instead. "Of course sis is at work, Izaya-san. I'm actually surprised to see you've really come back."

"Why, didn't you miss me?" Izaya's grin only added Seiji's rigidness—no one really wanted to see the guy who liked to bully them when they were still hopeless, small kids. "Well, too bad Namie isn't here, I must say. By the way, your uncle has just taken my father away."

"Honestly, I don't care what you're trying to pull off of my sis, Izaya-san." At that, Izaya only laughed as if he had expected Seiji's answer. "Besides, I don't know what my uncle's doing. I'm just here to visit a . . . school friend."

"Mm?" Glancing at the bouquet of roses in Seiji's right hand, Izaya knew better than what was happening inside Seiji's head. "Visiting, I suppose that's the only plausible excuse available, yes? But to skip school only to pay a little visit to a friend is hardly plausible."

Seiji glanced sideways, an icy scowl on his face. "I can't tell you anything right now." He stared back at Izaya with absolute resoluteness in his eyes. "But I'm in an important mission."

"Like love?"

"Even deeper."

Izaya was barely able to keep the amusement a secret. But the slight suspicion he had regarding Seiji's mission was perfectly concealed. "Mm-hm, of course," he settled with a short comment.

Frowning a little bit, Seiji chose to divert their conversation. "What happened to your head?"

"This?" Izaya chuckled while pointing at the bandage that was sneaking out from under his fringes. "This is only a memento I got from a touching meeting with a monster."

If Seiji wasn't very preserved, he might have rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. "I thought you've matured a bit, Izaya-san." He tightened his grip to the bouquet. "But like I said, I don't care. I have an important thing to do, so—"

"Yes, yes, go meet your girlfriend." Izaya shooed him with a careless wave. "I don't want to be the one who interrupts your little rendezvous." Seiji chose to ignore that, seemingly unperturbed as he regarded Izaya with a polite nod.

"Then I'll excuse myself."

Watching Seiji knock the door and wait for the ever sweet voice chirping a _'come in'_ , Izaya brought a finger up on his lips contemplatively; his smile lingered but didn't quite reach his eyes. Briskly, he headed towards the door once the boy had disappeared behind it. The name plate read _'Harima Mika'_ ; he took a mental note. Maybe peeking inside wouldn't do any harm, but he knew better than indulging himself in temporary pleasure. He aimed for something bigger, and that would be worth the wait. Upon the excited squeal of a girl that reverberated through the door again, an even wider smirk lined on his lips.

"Poor, poor Namie," he almost sang as he walked away.

* * *

 

 _Shit_ , this was a joke, right?

The building standing before him was clearly different than any of the other places Shizuo had worked in. The whole area was nearly twice as big as his high school, Raijin—or Raira now. The sparkling, golden lining pillars that were completing the crisp white walls, and the intimidating glass sliding doors that had the width of four normal doors, all polished like it had never been used, didn't convince him that he was indeed standing before the _right_ place.

"Oi, drop your pranks." He bit his cigarette, shooting a glare to Shinra, who was ogling the whole view with obvious amazement. "I don't believe you have a connection in this place."

"As expected of Izaya! He can get you work in this five star hotel, the bar must be really fancy!" Shinra happily ignored Shizuo's oh-so-predictable accusation, making a gesture of wiping an imaginary drools with his sleeve. His words, however, made Shizuo's glare intensify.

"What do you mean by _Izaya_?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah." Shinra beamed, gladly showing the rows of his teeth which somehow made Shizuo's stomach stir in protest. "Like I said, he was partly at fault for you to be fired, so I persuaded him to take some responsibilities!"

Shizuo could sense his left eye twitching.

"You're fucking kidding me—"

Before he could finish his snarl and dump the fucking offer to the nearest trashcan and just go home, though, Shinra had beat him to it with a smile that failed to cover his sourness—as though he had just bore witness to someone kicking an innocent puppy.

"No, I'm not kidding. This is your last chance, Shizuo. Think about it."

Shrugging, Shizuo sniffed. "Last chance or not, I don't want anything to do with that—"

"You know, Tanaka-san can't help you anymore, I can't help you anymore, but Izaya _can._ " Shinra raised his eyebrows as he said so.

For a while, Shizuo was forced into silence upon the ugly truth of that statement, staring at practically nowhere, whilst Shinra observed him with chilling gravity. Yet, knowing the growing hesitation in Shizuo, Shinra rubbed the back of his neck and formed an _'I-know-what-you're-thinking'_ grin.

"Izaya aside, it's not a bad offer, isn't it?"

Taking a sidelong glance at the building, Shizuo took his sunglasses off and slipped it inside his breast pocket. "Who the hell is he?" The way he blew the smoke out of his lips showed how exasperated he was inside.

"If you're asking me what he is to this hotel, then I don't know," said Shinra with an awkward chuckle. Instantly Shizuo's eyes trained on him again, incredulous.

"You _don't_ know?"

"Uh . . . well, he knows the group that owns this hotel."

Narrowing his eyes, Shizuo could feel suspicion had started crawling uncomfortably into his mind. "What _group_?" he asked as calmly as his temper permitted him.

"The Awakusu-kai."

". . . Isn't that yakuza?"

"I guess . . . ?" Shinra presented a hideous grin, which completely failed to fix the situation. Shizuo sighed exasperatedly, combing his bangs out of his forehead.

"I knew it. That guy's bad news." He shook his head, stepping on the cigarette butt longer than necessary. "Like I want to get involved in some crazy shit."

"No, Shizuo, think about this," Shinra said immediately. "This is a five star, with fancy bar and all, meaning less people will piss you off. Plus, it's owned by a yakuza group, lesser people dare to make a fuss there. You'll finally find a peaceful place to work at, get a good salary, and . . . " He paused, fixing his glassed on the bridge of his nose. ". . . It's not owned by Izaya."

Shizuo seemed to think for a couple of seconds, but he shook his head again. "Sure, stupid gangs won't make a fuss there. Because gunshots are more likely."

"Gunshots aren't an everyday thing." The smile on Shinra's lips was such that made Shizuo's hand itch to plant a punch.

"He's still the one who is helping me in."

"Because he got you kicked out of your job. Isn't that fair enough?"

_Fair?_

Sighing, Shizuo's fingers combed through his hair. No, fair didn't sound right. Indeed Izaya was the one who triggered his anger that time, but Shizuo knew that sooner or later it would still happen even without Izaya being an ass. Wherever he worked at, he was bound to lose his temper and went on a rampage like the _beast_ he was. He just didn't –

He _couldn't_ trust his own self.

"You're blacklisted from the other bars, and fixing drinks is the only thing you like, even though you don't like to drink and that's weird, but—ah my point is, this is a good opportunity, you know?"

Upon Shinra's supposedly stupid babbling, Shizuo swallowed the bitter liquid in his mouth and nearly grimaced at the taste, if only because of he was aware that he really was a blacklisted bartender. Damn, he knew Shinra was a smartass, but he never thought there would be a moment he would hate that fact. How could someone so easily stab needles to his wounds only to convince him do the things he didn't want to?

_'Brother, I heard you got a new job. Where is it?'_

Taking a deep breath to drive away Kasuka's email—or the horrible taste of guilt, to be precise—from his mind, Shizuo narrowed his eyes, gazing at the sky that had already been painted with the dark orange hue of dusk. He clenched his teeth, almost hissing, then scratched his head in annoyance.

"I won't meet him if I work here, right?" he said it so fast that Shinra had to take a moment to fully understand the question.

"As far as I know, Izaya doesn't like alcohol, and since it's not his place . . ." He left it hanging, knowing full well there was no need to continue. Shizuo had tuned everything out anyway, being wholly preoccupied by the battles inside his head. Almost a minute later, Shizuo sighed loudly, hands in his pockets.

"Fine, I still have to make money. Got no choice," he grumbled through gritted teeth.

"You know . . . that's not quite true. I'm willing to pay you if I can run some tests to you." Shinra grinned belatedly, before throwing his hands up in front of his face in mock surrender when Shizuo's eyes spoke murder. "But a blood sample would be great too, if you don't want to—" There were cracking sounds coming from Shizuo's knuckles. "—or maybe you want to test these pills I made last week—"

" _Shinra_!"

"Okay, not my face!" Shinra leapt sideways as a fist was launched towards him, missing only a millimeter. "Peace, okay? You know you hate violence."

"I hate noisy people more," Shizuo said, although the words didn't sound as harsh as he intended to. "Now what?" he continued, resisting the urge to break Shinra's glasses.

"Uh . . ." Adjusting up the preyed glasses, Shinra cocked his head upwards, staring at the pearl white alphabets that were hanging extravagantly on top of the glass door. "Why don't you go in and speak to the manager, then? They've been waiting for you, I think."

"Right, because the dumbass is a friggin' important person that they'd follow his request." Shizuo rolled his eyes.

"Well, Izaya is—"

A buzz stopped whatever had been on the tip of Shinra's tongue, and he fumbled inside his pocket to fish out his cell. Frowning for a while, he pursed his lips at the displayed screen.

 _[_ _**Subject:** _ _none_

 _**To:** _ _Kishitani Shinra_

 _**Sender:** _ _Orihara Izaya_

_**Message:** _

_I'm going to extend my stay in the hotel, so why not do me a favor by delaying our plan to make that brute work there? Moving to another hotel's too much work after all~_

_Sent at 6.35 PM, March 20]_

Raising his eyebrows in thought, Shinra glanced up to see Shizuo had already crossed the sliding door, talking to the bellboy in what Shinra guessed as asking for directions to the office. Turning his attention towards the email on his cell again, Shinra tilted his head to the side, before shrugging with a simple _'oh well'_ from his lips.

 _[_ _**Subject:** _ _Re: none_

 _**To:** _ _Orihara Izaya_

 _**Sender:** _ _Kishitani Shinra_

_**Message:** _

_Whoops! Too late~!_

_Sent at 6.39 PM, March 20]_

Dropping the cell phone inside his pocket, he followed Shizuo with an even wider grin.

* * *

 

"Thanks for the hard work, Heiwajima-san!"

Smiling awkwardly, Shizuo nodded as he made his way out of the back exit through the kitchen. His new supervisor, a man that looked younger despite his age—Shizuo guessed he must have been more than thirty judging from the way he treated Shizuo like a kid—grinning widely that made his round face look chubbier. As soon as he was out in the narrow alleyway, the smell of garbage invaded his nostrils, and he quickly reached for a cigarette.

To say Shizuo was surprised might be an understatement. He had never expected that his superior, colleagues and even the guests would be this temper-friendly. He had yet to lose his control in the last two days; maybe Shinra was right, high-class places like this had more educated people gathering, thus, less brawn-show. He was still doubtful that everything would be this perfect forever, though. All things considered, this was still a place run by yakuza.

Taking long strides to the bigger road that the hotel's main entrance was facing, he breathed the scent of mid spring air, before fumbling with his lighter. He blew the smoke into the air, snatching his sunglasses off and pocketed it while he swallowed in the colorful neon lamps showering almost every corner of the street.

He was about to take a turn at the corner when a flash of black filled his vision, followed by something that was heavy enough to knock his air stock out his lungs. He skidded to a stop, back smashing into the wall as whatever it was that had jumped into him struggled free from his reflexive grip and bounced backward. Shizuo blinked, mouth opened in confusion as the outline of the person became clearer under the dazzling neon.

"Oi—"

". . . Shizu-chan," Izaya said, a tentative smile plastered almost instantly on his lips in an attempt to mask his surprise—or even relief, from the look of it. Still, he didn't seem to care what Shizuo was trying to say, eyes darted over his shoulder and onto the road from whence he just ran. "Fancy meeting you here," he said simply.

"Yeah? For me it's bad news," Shizuo bit out, eyebrows furrowed even deeper. For a moment, he had to swallow the guilt that was taunting in the pit of his stomach upon the sight of a bandage on Izaya's forehead, but the feeling was quickly swept out by curiosity.

"Of course, the feeling is mutual, I assure you." Izaya shrugged, his complexion a funny mixture of pale white and electric green from the flickering neon above the DVD rental store, in front of which they were standing. He didn't drop a sweat, nor did he look even a tiny bit of out of breath, yet Shizuo didn't miss the failed casual semblance Izaya tried to give out, if only because the guy kept on glancing to his right through the corners of his eyes.

Shizuo was about to open his mouth again, half-curious, half-tempted to just shove Izaya away and walk straight home, when several footsteps echoed nearby, breaking the otherwise dull atmosphere. What had made Shizuo clamp his mouth shut again, however, was the alertness on Izaya's face—eyes widened and body jerked towards the sound where he heard them coming. Yet in a split second, the control had returned, and Izaya was already back to his calculative look when Shizuo felt something push him roughly towards a dark gangway between the DVD store and an empty office block. With a hiss, Shizuo's back landed on the piles of crates, head stinging from the bumping, as his limbs entangled with Izaya's.

"The fuck—"

He was slammed shut as Izaya sat up on his thighs abruptly, palms pressing onto Shizuo's lips. It wasn't in Shizuo's nature to just keep quiet to be treated this way, but the look in Izaya's face when he narrowed his eyes, gravely observing the mouth of the alleyway yet still managing to radiate the creepy composure, successfully stole Shizuo's focus. Less than a minute later—which seemed like hours—a middle aged man passed the street with a much younger girl, looking drunk and head over heels to each other. Izaya tweaked his brows, waiting, and as the footsteps had died in his ears, he exhaled the breath he didn't know he was holding, eyebrows relaxing gradually.

"Sorry," he said softly, shifting to get away from Shizuo's thighs.

"Sorry?" Shizuo repeated, sounded dubious above all things. ". . . what was that?" He shook his head slightly as at the back of his mind, he oddly noticed how sensitive his lips were to the breeze now that Izaya's palms were no longer attached.

"Well, things happened," Izaya said, shrugging. Shizuo squinted his eyes in suspicion.

"You're involved in some shady shit." That was downright accusation, but Izaya didn't look troubled in the slightest. If anything, he merely raised his brows in mock-surprise, lips curled into a naughty grin.

"I'm surprised Shizu-chan can come up with hypotheses."

"You know yakuza, you act like a mental . . . it's not that hard to guess." Now it was Shizuo's turn to shrug.

"Ah, ah." Izaya shook his head playfully, arms folding across his chest. "Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm quite normal actually."

"Yeah, right. I don't know if the definition of _'normal'_ is the same for us."

"Hmm, I guess you've got a point." Izaya nodded. "Monsters have their own definitions. I can see where you're coming from."

"Fuck you," Shizuo hissed.

"No, thanks. I don't do monsters." Izaya's grin widened; the color of his eyes grew dark as he backed into the light. "But if Shizu-chan wants me to kiss him again . . ."

"You're sick." Shaking his head, Shizuo stood up to lean his hip on the crate as he reached for a cigarette in his pocket. "I'm not gonna fall into your crazy shit again."

"That's so sad to hear." Izaya laughed, oddly too cheerful to Shizuo's liking. But then that childish, overly expressive humor on his face dissipated just as fast as it came, leaving only calmness radiating around him as he stared at the blinking streetlamp outside the gangway. "How is it? Do you enjoy working there?" He shoved his hands into his coat's pockets.

"Why do you care?" Shizuo needed three attempts on his lighter before he could take a long drag.

"Mm . . . because Shinra would crap on me."

"Serves you right."

Laughing like it was the funniest thing he had ever heard, Izaya tilted his head to the side, eyes roaming on Shizuo's. "Why are you angry all the time?"

"Why are you _annoying_ all the time?"

Izaya laughed again. "I wonder why."

"Why are you even here at—" Flipping open his cell, Shizuo squinted his eyes upon the glowing green on the screen, "—fucking five in the morning?"

"Why can't I?" Izaya asked, kicking gravel only to pick them up and toss them onto the opposite wall. Little _'thuds'_ echoed, being completely disregarded. "I stay in that hotel after all."

Shizuo almost let out an annoyed growl upon the revelation, but Izaya beat him to it, pointing to his own forehead nonchalantly. "Before you say anything, no, I'm not staying there to piss you off. Why would I want to see someone who almost broke my head?"

Flinching a bit, Shizuo found himself mirroring what Izaya did—mindlessly kicking gravel around as he ducked his head only to avoid those mocking eyes. "You said you purposefully let yourself injured, so don't put all the blame on me."

"I'm not putting all the blame on you. If you feel guilty, however, it's not my responsibility." The smirk was there again, pasted on Izaya's thin lips; the neon light from the street didn't quite reach his form, yet it still managed to create a soft, airy glow around him as he looked pointedly at Shizuo. How a person could both look so perfect and obnoxious at the same time was beyond Shizuo's comprehension.

"Tch. You don't have a home or what." Shizuo opted to divert his eyes once again, twisting his cigarette between his middle and forefinger.

Lifting his chin up until the crown of his head rested on the brick wall, Izaya buried his hands deeper inside his pockets. "Do you know what they say, that home is where the heart is, Shizu-chan?

"Yeah, that means a heartless bastard like you doesn't have a home."

Raising his brows so high, Izaya clutched his chest, pretending to be hurt. "How mean, Shizu-chan. But as expected, you think like a protozoan."

"And you think like some sort of psycho philosopher."

"Do I?" Snickering, Izaya straightened his body without even sparing a glance towards Shizuo. He kicked the wall behind him, skipping lightly towards the mouth of the gangway. "But I'm not obligated to tell you anything about me, ne, Shizu-chan."

Shizuo merely narrowed his right eye, and silence was the only thing that was present between them. Pausing on his journey, Izaya took a deep breath before muttering something barely loud enough for Shizuo to hear.

"Humans only believe in something they want to believe in. Interesting, isn't it?"

For a moment, Shizuo didn't answer; his forehead creased at the sudden change of topic. When he finally did, attempting to tell Izaya _'what the hell are you even talking about'_ with a low growl, Izaya sent a wink over his shoulder.

"But Shizu-chan is a monster, so he'll never know."

And with that, he skipped again, faster this time, and disappeared from Shizuo's line of sight before the latter could say— or throw—anything.

Hissing alone in the secluded darkness, Shizuo could feel something flaring from the bottom of his stomach, spreading like a group of ugly moths inside his veins; his cigarette barely hooked between his teeth. Clutching the corner of the crate behind him, Shizuo was hardly startled when a loud crack vibrated in the air soon after. He spat his cigarette out, crushing it with his heel, until the voice in his mind yelled about how stupid he was for thinking he could _talk_ to Izaya.

"I swear I'll kill that bastard," he muttered in rage, nose wrinkled and shoulders hunched as he kept his hands in his pockets, kicking gravels all the way out of the dark alley. When he reached the main street, he halted to steal a look at the silhouette of the enormous hotel flickering in light. He sniffed, waiting, _searching_ , then gave up after no more than thirty seconds.

"I'll _kill_ him," he said one last time before heading home.

* * *

 

**_~to be continued~_ **


End file.
